Date: Fri, 30 Jun 2006 13:53:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: Thomas Emerson
Subject: Alex and Luka
Gay (but females mentioned) affectionate (but not romantic), consenting
pedophilia.
This work of fiction involves characters who might resemble those on a
popular medical program owned by Warner Bros. Television. Nothing should
be inferred from the appearance of these individuals in this story.
"My mom really likes you," the boy said to the handsome Croatian
doctor.
"I'm glad," the man responded, "but how do you feel?"
"I guess I see a practical side to it," Alex replied.
"Well, that's probably better than seeing the romantic side, at
your age."
The pair were bottom fishing from their light cruiser anchored in a
Wisconsin lake. It was a Sunday afternoon in July, hazy enough that a fog
horn moaned in the distance.
"I'll cede the point," Alex said, "and admit I'm too young to
understand the first freaking thing about anything to do with romance, but
I'm not too young to feel something."
"I guess most eleven-year-olds feel something," the doctor allowed.
"Nascent and incipient come to mind," Alex said, "and before you
say anything, let me explain. I've had to excel in English to come up with
words for all the things I don't understand. Sort of like one eye for a
blind person."
"In my opinion," the older male said, "your vocabulary and usage do
not detract from you. In fact, I find myself thinking that half the appeal
of your beautiful mother is really my respect for your maturity, and I'd
say sophistication except the word has bourgeois connotations, and the last
thing I see you as is some kind of class freak or snob."
"They call me Wino Willy at school," the boy said with a quiet
grin.
"I've probably learned more from American winos," the alien said,
"than half my medical colleagues."
"When I get older I want to write a book," the eleven-year-old said.
"I'm going to call it: `How High Did You Make It?'. It would be a series
of interviews with the habituÚs of skid row. Their stories."
Luka landed a perch and refocused on the boy at his side. "The
good thing about your mother," he said, "is that I can pet her and tell her
I love her without violating any rules or regulations."
"The heraldic code. Chivalry. But it seems to me there's an
argument to be made for consigning at least some major elements of medieval
folkways to the domains of the archeologist and anthropologist."
"And where does that leave us?" the doctor wondered.
"Back where we started," the boy said, "when I emphasized the
practical side of your relationship with Mom."
"You were getting at something?"
"Until I got tripped up on linguistics," the child acknowledged.
"Well, expectorate it, as we docs say: spit it out."
"It's just that you're so handsome," Alex responded. "And sure,
Mom's a beauty now, but how about later when she isn't teen-fresh anymore?
How are you going to be able to resist all the pressures of girls coming on
to you at work? Nurses, patients, other doctors, and a list that probably
would make a two-foot printout in eleven-point type.
"For sure you're gonna fall off the wagon sooner or later and leave
her emotionally, if not leaving us physically."
"Keep talking," Luka said.
"It's just that I have an idea," the boy continued, "and since
you're an experienced Attending, not some rookie Intern, I can tell you
because you've heard it all before, and nothing can shock you, right?"
"No one's heard or seen it all," the doctor replied, "but I get
your point."
"Okay, the problem is You -- you one day abandoning Mom and me --
and maybe the answer is Me."
"I'm listening," Luka intoned, mimicking a certain Seattle radio
personality.
"Okay," the boy said, and again the shy grin flashed across his
face. "I know that women are sometimes called broads, or used to be, so I
guess what I'm asking is that you be narrow-minded."
At this point the doctor wrapped one of their perch in a page of
newspaper and handed it to Alex. "Continue with your thought," he said in
a fake accent, "or swim with the fishes."
"Well, you know I read a lot," the child began.
"Yes," Luka encouraged. "Your mom's not just a pretty face, she's
a task-master in drag, and if I may indulge in a little American hyperbole,
you've turned out way awesome as a result. Truly bad." Alex remained
focused.
"Not all my reading's been about clipper ships and gold rushes," he
said, "some of it's been about stuff that happens in real life. On top of
that, I have a friend, Kim, who has some videos off the Net, so at least a
little bit I know what I'm talking about. I mean there's evidence, not
just surmise and theory."
"And someday you're going to share this in furtherance of my
knowing what you're talking about?"
"See," the boy rejoined, "that's just what I'm talking about. You
probably do know, but social and cultural strictures prohibit your telling,
or even admitting it to yourself. You can tell Mom, about Mom, but you
can't tell me about me. That's way Victorian and even more way useless and
beside the point -- even destructive in the present circumstances."
"Well," the older male mused, "why don't you try delineating those
circumstances one word at a time. That won't be telling, it'll be
enunciating. Liken it to our present activity. They call it `fishing',
right?"
"Yeah," the boy concurred.
"But if we went out and boarded one perch after another, along with
plenty of bass and trout, they wouldn't call it `fishing', they'd call it
`catching'. Right?"
"I guess," the child giggled.
"So forget that the analogy's a stretch, and stop enunciating
(fishing) and start telling (catching); okay?"
"As soon as you start listening," the eleven-year-old chirped, then
continued. "In my reading, as I said, I've found out a thing or two, and
Kim's collection of videos totally reinforced what the magazines and books
said, and that is that sometimes -- and there's nothing rare about it --
men your age like boys my age.
"I mean I can see why," he went on hurriedly, "I have a full-length
mirror in my bedroom, and if I stand in front of it just wearing my
underpants I think I look pretty neat, and a lot of boys my age would, too.
Look neat that is, and I don't mean neat in the sense of grooming or
raiment, I mean neat as in kewl and kewl as in maybe even just the tiniest
bit hot."
It was a good time for a fish to strike and a nice bass obliged
them.
"Have you talked about this with Kim or your other friends?" Luka
wanted to know.
"Just with him," Alex replied. "He's my only really close friend
because he's the only one who understands that I'm really scared of the
winos -- I mean how easy it must be to become one -- and want to talk to
them so I can find out what not to do to end up on a park bench or frozen
solid in a refrigerator box."
"Okay," Luka said to his young companion, "that's very far out for
a boy your age, but also both admirable and highly creative. Mature. And
since we're sort of broaching a subject we're not quite on yet, I'd like to
ask you a very personal question."
"Go ahead," the boy said, nerves palpable but nonetheless focused.
"Are things happening between you and Kim?"
"Just talk," the child replied. "We like each other but I think
we'd be really be embarrassed to try anything, maybe because if we didn't
like it it would spoil our friendship. What we both want is for a man to
teach us. If we get lucky, that way, then maybe we'd be comfortable taking
a shower together or something like that."
Luka paused to digest the pearls (minus the jam) tossed before
him. For awhile they ceased catching and just fished. "Have you picked
out a man?" the doctor finally asked.
The boy looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads and six
eyes. "You shouldn't be licensed to practice golf, much less medicine, if
you don't know the answer to that."
The man stared into the eyes of the beautiful eleven year old.
"One thing I don't need," he said, "is a rapid infuser, though a pound or
two of lydocaine might not hurt." Another thing neither needed was a
suspicious all-over tan, so they reeled in their lines and went below. For
long moments they sat side-by-side on the main cabin's settee sipping
lemonade retrieved from the ice box.
Doing and talking. Talking and doing. There were things that
really needed to be said, yet even a word or two could be the key to
Pandora's box: one male's cherished stimulant was another's deal-breaking
anathema. No dilemma had longer, sharper horns, but, on the other hand,
the boy had verbalized his way into the subject, so taking him in silence
might equal the sickness of discussion in the eyes of another.
Fortunately, there was one sure-fire way to find out if one could just
manage to edge up to the nitty-gritty.
"How would your mom feel if she found out?" Luka asked.
"My mom would judge the situation writ large," Alex replied. "If
you were treating us well and were pretty darn faithful I think that's all
she'd ask. In fact, my guess is that if we managed to fall asleep in a
compromising position, like watching Kim's videos on television, she'd
think it was cute."
"You mean there's more to life than obeying Oprah?" the doc asked.
The boy looked up at him wide-eyed. "I knew it was right; I just
knew it," he said.
"But how about talking, is that right?"
"Definitely," the boy said. "How else are we gonna trash that
thousand watt face and ten watt brain?"
"Actually, I can think of a way," Luka allowed.
"Action versus words?" the boy guessed.
"Action versus words," his quasi step-father-to-be confirmed.
"I half agree," the boy responded, "but the other half of me wants
to know all about you. How old were you when you learned about stuff; I
mean^┼ you know? And was it with a male or a female? And, just this once,
some details if it's not all super private, which is boring, and top
secret, which is downright rude, all things considered."
Luka contemplated the situation for a few moments. "Half this," he
said, "and half that. How would you feel about continuing with the next
half of the conversation while half-dressed?"
"Kewl," the youngster chirped. "I'll show, and you tell, then
we'll switch off."
Either of this story's heroes could have added -- you know -- some
half-assed comment, but dignity and decorum ruled and they forbore. Alex
slipped into the cruiser's head and emerged a minute later in his white
briefs, his hands cupping his groin in an attempt at modesty that did not
entirely hide the fact that his status as an English prodigy was not the
only facet of his maturity. Shyly he crossed the cabin standing in front
of the adult. Luka gently moved his hands to the side, then slowly drew
the long-legged boy to him and seated the bare-chested child in his lap.
"Just to eliminate any possibility of misunderstanding," he whispered
hoarsely, "I'm going to sexually molest you if you stay here."
"I started it," the boy whispered back, "and if a meteor lands
within a hundred feet of us I may change my mind and go running up on
deck."
Instinctively, the child then raised his hands high over his head
and the young, athletic doctor traced his fingers over the silky skin of
the heaving birdlike chest. "How would you feel if Kim was here watching
us?" he whispered.
"I'd want to watch you do this with him, too," the boy said. "That
could get us used to each other so we wouldn't be embarrassed."
"That sounds good to me," the adult said.
"I've kind of thought about it," Alex elaborated. "If you were --
well -- willing to play, I thought maybe seeing as how you're connected to
the hospital and all we could establish something along the line of a club.
Cool guys. Maybe some patients. Kids in for minor stuff."
"Would you like to molest a little boy?" Luka asked.
"Yes," came the quick answer as Alex lowered his hands and started
working on the doctor's buttons. "And I wouldn't care how old, as long as
he was totally willing^┼ like I am^┼ to be molested by you. I know damn
well I'm not even the third cousin of a freak, and that some definite
minority of boys want the same things I do; that Kim does. With a hospital
you have dozens to choose from, so you're likely to find a few that are not
only willing but enthusiastic and eager -- like I would be if I was there
for treatment. And Mom says there are often some empty rooms on the upper
floors, and the beds have wheels, so it wouldn't be hard to have really,
really super special parties once in awhile.
"Of course," the kid went on, "there may be other ways of keeping a
marriage -- I mean I want you to marry her so we can ace-out if you roll
your ride or get iced by a nut job -- alive and lively, but those are my
ideas on how to keep the home fires sizzling."
"Perhaps I can also help by filling your stocking with coal at
Christmas," Luka said.
"Just concentrate on maintaining perfection as a husband and
step-father," the boy instructed, "and leave the coal to embers and the
embers to cinders and the cinders to ashes and ashes to dust and your money
to us."
"That's not a bituminous," the doctor observed.
"Maybe not a bit humorous," the boy agreed, "but at least it's a
try at ligniting a spark of levity."
"Do you suppose," the wiser head said, "that it's a coincidence
that `clown' and `drown' rhyme perfectly?"
"But so do `try' and `fry'," Alex said, shaking in Luka's lap like
an executionee. For all the twaddle and fiddle-faddle about sex, there was
still something to be said for alternative aspects of friendship; silly old
stuff like teasing, affection, and enjoying each other's company writ
playful. At the same time, beauty will out and in moments the two males
were drowning in each other's eyes.
"We're not going to do anything gross like falling in love, are
we?" Luka asked the glowing boy in his lap as he ran his fingers delicately
over the child's beautiful face.
Alex thought a few moments, then answered. "What we should do,"
he ventured, "is experiment with kissing to see how much we don't like it
-- just to be sure we're not going overboard; you know, that we're not
turning into fags or anything."
"You're right," Luka whispered, "and to make doubly sure we should
be naked, don't you think?"
"I've never seen a man," the boy responded. "Just kids at school
and in Kim's videos."
"How about yourself?" the doctor queried of the eleven-year-old."
Alex blushed and admitted he'd "peeked" in his bedroom mirror, and had to
also confess he didn't look much like a boy. "How come?" he asked.
"Two possibilities," the handsome young doctor said. "First, guys
are just plain different; mature at different ages to different sizes,
though most fit in a relatively narrow standard range. Second, may have
been active with a mature male, somehow ingesting his semen, and the boost
in testosterone and other hormones has stimulated your maturity and
growth."
The boy looked up at Luka. By now it was obvious to both that
their kissing, a/k/a fag test, was moments away, but also becoming more
compelling with each moment it was postponed. (Talk about maturity.) "But
I'd know that, wouldn't I?" he asked. "If something like that had
happened."
"It doesn't matter one way or the other," the doctor said, "and it
could have happened some years ago. Your mom's showed me pictures and you
were a beautiful child even when you were five and six. One of her
boyfriends could have had some kind of affair with you and lost control;
possibly drugged you with sleeping pills, and you wouldn't necessarily even
have the vaguest memory of anything happening."
"It sounds kinda exciting," the eleven-year-old allowed.
Luka strongly agreed. "It would have been," he said, "for the
adult. A sleeping child is about as tantalizing as it gets and molesting
one is fantasy on steroids, especially if the tampering proceed all the way
to ejaculation."
The boy giggled shyly. "Wish I'd been there," he said.
Male bonding rituals don't always involve the carcasses of
vanquished foe or large animals. "We could play-act it someday," Luka
said. "Or maybe do it together with a kid at the hospital."
"How about a girl?" the boy asked.
That was music to the doctor's ears, because his only worry in
establishing a special friendship with his girlfriend's son was turning him
into a straight homosexual. It was hard to imagine anyone arbitrarily
excluding half the human race on the basis of gender, but masses of people
were so weirded out they did just that. Well, it was their loss, and the
taboos and bans essential to their twisted beings merely served to
intensify the gratification of being normal.
Luka was harder than he'd been since his early teen years; rigid as
thick bamboo, but the image of leading Alex into a darkened hospital room,
stripping him naked, then easing him into bed beside a sleeping little girl
made him twice as hard as any maximum possible. Visions of helping the
handsome youth slip the child out of her nightie, molesting both their
warm, smooth bodies as he gently brought them together, then lubricating
the boy's hot erection with surgical gel and guiding him into the sleeping
female; protecting her against the wanton thrusting of the coltish
stallion, then rolling the girl on her back and allowing her charger his
free will -- finally holding the shuddering male as he panted and hissed
and began his ending into the female -- were enough to convert his boner
into a rocker, to say nothing of the feelings he'd experience after easing
the children apart and himself entering the tight hot body of the sleeping
child, Alex's sizzling boyseed fizzing him into his own vast and extended
release. He concluded the fantasy by bringing the girl her breakfast in
bed and sitting beside her, tanning in her glow. Good for what ails ya, he
surmised, and only dependent on the child's willing participation (she'd be
faking the "sleep" thing).
Willing participation. Luka tried coloring inside the lines. What
if it was accepted; universal? What if sex compelled children wanting
their share to take good care of themselves? Same token: adults to take
care of themselves? What if a walk through the park ended up a crocodile;
a tall, handsome young athlete exiting with six or eight kids trailing
along behind? What if students lined up outside their teachers' doors,
each eager to perform to his or her utmost in hopes of friendship or class
standing? What if a coach's or scout leader's nights were filled with one
panting, moaning young boy after another? Would this amount to heaven or
hell? Would the vast shift in priorities implode economies around the
world, or provide a surfeit of distractions, involvements, and
entertainments that would lead most adults into more constrained and modest
lifestyles, perhaps saving billions of barrels of oil a year and
universally negating the get-up-and-go needed to get-up-and-fight? Was
utopia, in fact, a bedroom away? Was, conversely, the lockstep, big chill,
group-think aversion to free juvenile expression responsible for the
corrosive realities of a society at the brink of doom?
Bonoboism was dismissed -- derisively -- as the way of punk flesh,
but the smug nut jobs indifferent to the example set by the conduct of
these peace-loving, sex-oriented chimps had little going for them beyond
their raspberries. They could be ignored, out of sight of John Law,
because boys don't tell, and for all his fantasies concerning nocturnal
visits to hospital rooms Luka was smart enough to give juvi males a
fifty-to-one preference over their distaff agemates in the name of avoiding
about a hundred complications. In due time the boy would figure out the
apparent inconsistency, hardly noticeable in the overall complexity of the
birds and the bees.
A perfect world have everyone reading history, working moderately,
living modestly, and making up for what they were missing with the tender
bodies and fresh minds of willing children as young as five. Maybe someday;
meantime, the doctor was smart enough to leave the grotesquely imperfect
world to its current flailing, obesity, piercing, cutting, tats, and
utterly mad materialism-on-credit while devoting his attention to the
bare-chested beauty in his lap.
"It must have been cool for the Ancients," the boychick observed.
"How so?" his doctor friend asked.
"Because their rules were scribed on tablets, so when they threw
them out there had to have been a satisfying crash."
"Point taken," Luka agreed, "and from what we know of the Egyptians
of that era, it may be that the pyramids were built from the rubble of just
such tablets."
"They didn't obey many rules, did they?"
"Apparently not, at least by our weird standards," Luka said, "which
brings up about as exotic a point as can be expressed."
"I'll bet it has nothing to do with fishing," the boy guessed.
"I don't think it has to do with anything but pure adventure.
Practically a pyramid unto itself."
"So tell me," the child fake-whined.
"Well, it's like this. Your mom's a beautiful pixie; closer to a
school girl than a supermodel, don't you think?"
"Yesss," the boy allowed.
"And in a year or two, maybe when you're fourteen, you're going to
end up at better than six feet; probably a twin of Adonis."
"Maybe," the boy half agreed.
"And we're of a mind concerning rules that make no sense for us,
right?"
"Right," Alex concurred.
"And people come to the U.S. from all over the world because here
it's legal for them to undergo clinical procedures that allow them to
choose the sex of their babies. You've read about that."
"Yes," the boy responded.
"Okay. Plus, you and I are going to have an outside-the-box
relationship, and extend it to include other willing partners."
"Yes," Alex repeated.
"Do you see where I'm going with this?" Luka asked.
"I just hope it's not back up on deck," the boy replied.
"As if," the older male chuckled. "I'll cut to the chase. Your
mom's crazy about you. Her acceptance of me is predicated more on your
attitude toward me than anything I do or don't do."
"I guess that's a little true," the kid admitted.
Luka stared for long moments into the gray eyes of the dishwater
blond eleven-year-old, then he spoke with great deliberation. "What I
think would be an outrageous nucleus to our individual family," he said,
"is if you inseminate your beautiful school-girl mom -- and she can have a
little special surgery so she'll feel like a girl-child while you're
mounted -- with a daughter chosen from your sperm."
Alex took his time over this, mulling and digesting for several
minutes as he stripped Luka of his shirt, then moved to him so his bare
chest was against that of the athletic older male. When he spoke it was to
seal his family's fate. "I hope you don't mean just one."
"Oh," the adult murmured, "I thought you were going to say you hoped
you didn't have to wait until you were fourteen."
The boy puzzled on this for a few moments, then brightened. "If
we're going to build a pyramid," he said, taking the challenge in stride,
"by the time I'm a teenager I should be teaching my daughter." Again the
pensive look crossed his handsome face. "Which means," he added, "you
better not waste any time in teaching me."
This led to an interval in the story's dialogue during which their
lips followed their eyes and their tongues followed their lips until it was
all over but the trying and they tried and tried and while their success
overwhelmed them both it also left each knowing there was a hundred times
more at hand.
Nearly ten minutes passed until the bare-chested pair again found
their voices. "Nor overlook the most minute detail," the doctor responded,
returning to the subject of teaching with a mock sigh, then easing the boy
to his feet and standing himself. He went on to explain the basics,
demonstrating by standing behind the glistening boy and placing his hands
on the child's shoulders. "This can be friendly or sexual," he said,
explaining that most child molesters would use the technique as an initial
approach in order to give their young victim time to pull away and beg off.
"If you do neither," Luka explained, "most adults will ask permission to
continue touching you: say something like, `is this okay?' You don't have
to answer because your partner will understand that you may be confused and
not know whether you want to be fully molested or not. Or, you can nod
your head or make some affirmative comment. Understand?"
"Will other men do it with me?" the boy asked in response.
"About seven out of ten males learn as boys from another male," the
doctor said, "so the short answer, for a kid as attractive as you, is Yes."
Alex digested this while standing still as Luka's hands began caressing his
neck and slim shoulders. "And that's okay," he continued. "The whole
point of our all being together, as you, yourself, indicated, is fidelity.
Me sticking around so you can inherit my dough, that kind of thing. But
it's not to be overdone, any more than infidelity is to be overdone. I'll
remain faithful to your mother because I have you and possible sexual
adventures at the hospital. I'll always be there for all of you because
I'm smart and you're the best bet in town. You, on the other hand, will be
more attractive as a partner if you do welcome attention from other males,
as long as it's on a restrained and sensible basis. Two or three a year
sounds about right. And the governing rule is being honest about it. I'm
not into S and M, bondage, watersports, the anal variety of fisting,
auto-asphyxiation, cross dressing, or anything on the list of the
megaweirds, but that doesn't mean I'm not kinky, and my thing is verbal
voyeurism; in other words, graphic description. If you submit to an older
male or get a child to willingly submit to you, I want to hear all about
it. When we're at the hospital, if that actually works out as feasible, I
want to be with you; to watch you and have you watch me, at least some of
the time or the first time. In exchange, you'll be granted plenty of
privacy for any sexual friendship you want to pursue past the first
encounter or two.
"When I say two or three new partners a year I'm talking about older
boys or men. Boys your own age, like Kim, and younger, like kids we might
meet at the hospital, can number as high as a dozen or so. Also, the
occasional orgy. Size is supposed to matter, and so does the size of the
group. For example, a step in your development could include your spending
a couple of hours with a basketball team. You don't have to write your own
vows to be with them, and overdoing it could be hazardous to more than your
health, but neither should you dogmatically reject rare trips to the outer
limits.
"Half the reason this is a good idea," Luka continued, "is that you
can find your own borders; subject yourself to your own discipline. You'll
have to be doing this -- especially with both parents as busy doctors --
all the time you're growing up and my theory is that if you're gonna end up
a self-indulgent wack job it might as well be over sex `cause then at least
you'll have some cool memories."
Alex laughed and relaxed in Luka's arms.
"When it goes this far," the doctor whispered, his hands trailing
softly over the boy's shoulders and down his sleek, childish flanks, "you
might want to say something very low-key to let your partner know you're
receptive."
"Tell me what to say," Alex whispered back, his chest beginning to
heave.
"When it happened to me," Luka answered, "I just told my coach I'd
never done it before and asked him to be really gentle."
"How old were you?"
"Nine."
It was, to talk^┼ what? Fun? That trivialized it. Exciting?
Well, sure, if you didn't mind inhibited understatement. A diversion?
Well, again, sure, but^┼ In the end, only one adjective fit:
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Nuff said.
"Where did it happen?" the boy next wanted to know.
"After diving practice at school," Luka explained.
"Did you know ahead of time?" was the next question.
"Actually, I did, sort of. My friend, Borg, he was seven at the
time, told me coach Parnivik liked to take showers with some of the water
rats after the pool closed, and that if I wanted to try it I should ask him
if I could stay after and help him clean up and wash the towels."
"Wow," Alex whispered, "seven. That's awesome."
"You don't know that half of it," Luka laughed (a bit tensely), but
if things go well with our new family you'll find out. Kids even younger
than that; maybe even as young as four, can make sensational partners. The
old saying about there being no substitute for experience is only half
true: curiosity and enthusiasm count for plenty, and then sure, go ahead
and add some experience, and the result has to be experienced to be
believed. Add talent -- and there is such a thing -- and the experience
will be beyond belief, comprehension, understanding: everything but
appreciation."
"Are you molesting other kids?" Alex asked.
"My theory is based on watching Borg with Coach Parnivik," the young
doctor replied, "and assuming what a seven-year-old could do brilliantly a
five year old could do competently, but to answer your question, yes, I've
performed homosexual acts with three boys of about your age since I've been
in Chicago. No girls and no one under the age of ten. "
"Are you still friends with any of the boys?"
"I keep in touch with all three by e-mail, but I've referred them to
other adult males because match-making between the cool but lonely and the
hot and lonely is an aspect of life that appeals to me almost as much as
the sublime kinkiness of a beautiful boy siring a daughter vis-Ó-vis
Oedipus."
"You know what saying I like?" Alex asked as the adult's hands
mastered him over his slim belly and heaving chest.
"What," Luka whispered now moving to the belt of the child's shorts.
"'Today is the first day of the rest of your life.'"
"And the oddity is," Luka responded, "that half the objective is to
take your mind off sex. To make it a judicious and limited part of the
rest of your life freeing you to read, study, focus on documentary
television -- beyond police chases -- and excel at other pursuits, and your
mother and I to move along with the efficiency of total trust in the
imperfect."
"But it sounds perfect," the boy whispered as Luka began molesting
him down inside his shorts.
"I guess I'm just superstitious," the doctor explained, "you know,
worried about what you Americans call a jinx. If I were to admit
perfection we'd end up with less."
Alex reached up over his head and standing on his toes, linked his
fingers behind Luka's neck, arching to the touch of the athletic young
adult. "It would take me years and years to find something imperfect about
what you're doing to me now," he said.
"Then maybe it's my interpretation of luck and fate that's wanting."
By now the beautiful boy was shaking and panting, hardly able to
speak. Luka was openly fondling him, his hands caressing ever lower as the
child sucked in his smooth, infinitely soft belly to allow access. "How
much can I love you without being faggy?" he croaked.
Since Luka had been thoroughly molested as a preteen, he had a ready
answer. "At first, quite a bit," he said, "but after a week or two, three
or four hours a week, then less until we establish what would be considered
a normal relationship, with this kind of activity re-kindled when a new
partner comes along.
"Is that okay?"
"I don't know," Alex said. "It seems like there's nothing else in
the whole world; that your hands are like a galaxy or something."
"I know," Luka whispered, "it seemed to me god, himself, was in the
locker room that first time, and probably for the first half-dozen times,
although it's not the kind of thing one gets overly analytical about. Gods
at first, then like either the place was on fire or I was, and in either
case there was only one sure way to quench the flames."
"At least now I know why they call it `hot'," Alex agreed.
"So that means you'll forgive me for giving you coal at Christmas^┼"
"I'll think about it," Alex grunted^┼ "later."
And moments later both males were naked and experimenting with
touching just the tips of their erections as Luka squatted so he'd be at
the right height to duel with the preteen. Both were circumcised, the
young doctor heavy and log-like while the child's near six inches was slim
and standing straight out from an almost invisible brow of fuzz,
tantalizing because it indicated that his climax would be mature and
probably very wet.
Soon they were slicking each other with natural lubricants, the
seminal fluid intensifying the sensation of contact as they thrust again at
again while experimenting with different angles and grunting aloud to the
triggering effect of their foreplay. This made speech difficult, but so
far they'd managed to excite each other with quizzing and response so they
made the effort. "You know what I'd like to do?" Luka rasped. The boy
nodded that he would. "I'd like to get my right hand wet with surgical
gel," he said, "and grip you and Kim while the two of you did what we're
doing."
"Would you squeeze us pretty hard?" the quaking boy wanted to know.
"Not quite enough to hurt," the adult replied.
"Would you let us hold you and squeeze you with our oily hands?"
"Only if you practice now so you can teach him later," Luka said.
"And if I refuse?" the kid managed to giggle.
"You'll swim with the fishes and I'll fry in Joliet."
"Well," the boy dramatized, "if you put it that way^┼" And he eased
the adult back on the settee, kneeling between his long legs and spreading
them wide so Luka's left foot was on the cabin deck and his right leg
positioned atop the back of the bunk. For a second the boy wondered about
lubricant but then he realized his partner's huge erection was already wet
so he leaned forward and began spreading his mate's fluid while
experimenting with different grips, gauging his success by the panting
moans of his lover. In a few minutes he'd perfected his technique, using a
tight grip at the man's base with his left hand and stroking fully and
firmly -- but quite slowly -- with his right, wetting his palm frequently
with a quick circling motion before resuming the up-and-down plunging of
his hand.
Luka strained to the child's actions, his muscles cording and his
hips high off the mattress as he thrust avidly in response to Alex's slowly
gathering rhythm.
"You've seen pictures of what happens, right?" the doctor gasped.
"Just with boys," Alex replied, referring to Kim's P2P downloads.
"There may be more with me, and I don't want you to freak if it
splashes on you; okay?"
"I'll be okay unless you've been eating lots of licorice and some
sperm gets in my mouth. Not too hot on licorice."
"If you're mature and reasonable about it," Luka observed, "you'll
have something interesting for the class the next time you have show and
tell."
"Them and the vice squad," the boy said.
"And Juvi makes three."
"Spoilsport."
Whether deliberate or subconscious, the banter worked, bringing Luka
back from within a razorblade's width of ejaculating heavily all over the
heaving chest of the beautiful, stroking boy. The fantastic prolonged is
the divine achieved. On a more practical note, it was nap time and so Alex
eased at his task, slowed his fist and fell forward. As the reader might
imagine, this proved fruitless because the sensation of the athlete's
powerful bare chest against that of the eleven-year-old inspired the child
to wriggle forward so once again he could gaze into the eyes of his
handsome teacher and resume the lessons of lips and tongue that had begun
so well about twenty minutes earlier. This review couldn't help but remind
the boy of the more graphic activities still fresh in his memory, and with
a final tooth-clicking kiss he lunged back to his kneeling position as Luka
thrust urgently to meet him. But now things were different. Luka's hot
erection was still a thrill, and masturbating him was that thrill squared,
and the thought of actually watching an adult version of what he'd seen of
the boys in Kim's collection of videos -- the heavy pulse of thick, white
semen spurting repeatedly high in the air and splashing all over the place
-- added dramatically to the situation -- literally -- at hand: all true
enough. All good enough. And yet he had seen it. To a certain extent,
been there and done that. Was he being greedy and absurd, or was there
another dimension relevant to his relationship with the panting young
doctor? He wouldn't know unless he explored, and so he again bent forward
and took the adult in his mouth. Instinct told him to continue with his
hot manual massage of the adult's huge hardness, and also guided his lips
and tongue as he engulfed the swollen hugeness of the stallion beneath him.
Luka's reaction was instantaneous. He jackknifed as would an
Olympic diver, his hands finding the boy's surging head, his legs wrapping
the silky child and drawing him in, every muscle corded and straining in
reaction to the boy's hot mouth sucking hard as the tongue darted and
played. A minute passed and then another. "I'm gonna cum," he finally
rasped, hoping Alex's hands would continue their talented stroking as he
pulled away. But he didn't pull away. Bred of feral instinct the boy
began a low pitched humming, tuning the vibrations of his voice to the hot
staff in his mouth and somehow knowing this act was a shortcut to
fulfilling the desperate need he had for the ending of all endings. And
came that ending.
"I'm gonna cum," Luka groaned again, and seconds later it began
happening. Again, instinct played it's role and Alex move off slightly so
that Luka was against the tip of his tongue. At first there was more a
sensation of saltiness than anything really definable. The boy didn't have
time to be disappointed, but was beginning to wonder when a few seconds
later Luka began ejaculating. In moments the hint became a maelstrom; a
rapid pulsing of salty fluid that overwhelmed the child, drooling copiously
from his lips even as he mastered the hard, fast swallowing needed to keep
pace with the repeated floods gushing over his tongue. For the third time
Lucas emitted a strangulated whimper: "I'm cumming." And this time he was
serious. The pulsing intensified until there was almost an audible
snapping sound at each fresh burst of hot semen. Alex gave up on trying to
keep up, letting the overflow cascade from his lips as he continued a token
effort at swallowing.
A second minute, separated from the first by most of a lifetime,
began, but with far less intensity. What had been ripping and urgent now
became soft and friendly, a gentle pulsing between the stallion and the
colt; intimate and special rather than hot and furious. Luka began
relaxing, stretching, and as he did so he took the youth by the waist and
urged him forward until the boy's legs straddled his waist. Alex braced
against the bulkhead forward of the cabin bunk and the doctor lubricated
the child's jutting shaft with thick dollops of his own semen. He cupped
the boy with his left hand and began masturbating him with his right fist.
Alex bucked and quaked in response to the slick hand and then cried aloud
as Luka drew him forward and took him deep in his mouth and began sucking
with an almost frantic urgency. Too close to passing out to even grunt a
warning, the eleven-year-old just let it happen, his hot sperm stimulating
an urgent humming from the athletic doctor that added its own dimension of
agony to the first total release of his life. He sprayed eight times, then
collapsed, wriggling low on Luka so his belly was covered with the slippery
semen, then responding to the adult's guidance and moving forward again so
their lips could meet. At first it was a kiss, then the man released a
small flood of the child's own sperm into his mouth. It was totally
shocking, but the boy figured he'd get used to such play eventually. It
would be just a matter of practice.
Momentarily exhausted, the two lay on their backs on the narrow
bunk, dreams of dimly lit hospitals dancing in their heads. And -- there
-- might be spaces, not of trauma, suffering, and pain, but of discovery,
renewal, and growth. It was a bit corny and a bit of a stretch, but they'd
come to call such sanctuaries Emergence Rooms.
The End
Notes. Hello, Skysuit (R.G.). Hope all is well with you, family,
and pooches. Samantha's fine. Be nice to add to our half-million words of
correspondence now that I'm back at ye keyboard.
Readers wanting more should type Thomas@btl.net (my former URL) on
their browser. About 150 files are listed.
Posted by Thomexxx@Yahoo.com
(7115)